


Unravelling

by cazflibs



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: "As the hairpins were carefully plucked out with confidence and skill, Arlene’s head began to swim dizzy as, slowly but surely, Deb picked apart everything that she’d ever known."





	Unravelling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zolturates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zolturates/gifts), [thevindaloovian](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thevindaloovian).



> Dedicated to Zolturates and thevindaloovian, whose gorgeous artwork of Deb and Arlene totally inspired me to write this oneshot.

“Why do you do that?”

With one hairpin held between thin lips and the other poised ready to tame the final unruly curl, Arlene paused at the words. Hazel eyes flitted their attention from her own reflection to that of her recently roused bunkmate who stood slouched with arms folded, behind her.

Arlene’s eyebrows pinched questioningly. “Do what?” she mumbled, the prickle of her reply softened through lost consonants.

Deb yawned widely before gesturing loosely with a turmeric-stained finger. “Spend all that time waxin’ and sprayin’ and pinnin’ your hair down,” she explained. “You get up at stupid o’clock in the mornin’ every day to do it, and for what?”

Feathers ruffled, Arlene rolled her eyes as she fastened the pin in place before plucking the last one from her lips. “I wouldn't expect someone with the likes of _that_ hairstyle to understand, Lister,” she chided. “You see, some of us actually take pride in our appearance.”

The truth was, she’d been mocked relentlessly throughout her life for her wild, untameable locks. As a child, her father would tug a merciless comb through her hair every morning before school to drag it into some semblance of presentability. Teenage years were spent perfecting a highly militarised hair regime to ensure that her natural curls were slicked, pinned and sprayed into rigid formality. It was her safety net. Her suit of armour.

“What’s wrong with leavin’ your hair loose?” Deb pressed as she eyed it critically. “Surely it can't be that bad?”

Arlene snorted through cavernous nostrils as picky fingers made the final perfections. “Oh believe me, it is.”

“Is that so?” Deb angled her head low until she regarded her bunkmate from under the hood of a disbelieving eyebrow. “Well I don't believe half the crap that comes out your mouth, and I'm willin’ to wager this falls under that category.” She gestured in invitation with a jut of her chin. “Come on, take it out for once.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Lister. I've just finished it.”

There was a challenging pause before: “If you don't, then I will.”

Arlene wheeled back to face her in genuine alarm although she ensured that a defensive, lofty sneer was plastered into place. “You wouldn't,” she dismissed. At the Scouser’s gleeful grin, the harshness of the expression melted from her face as the realisation set in. “Would you?”

Deb’s silence spoke volumes as she sauntered slowly towards her. Arlene's eyes darted tellingly over the woman’s shoulder to the doorway and back again before making an inelegant, scrabbling break for it.

Entirely expecting the method of escape, Deb simply extended a nonchalant boot to trip the woman off-balance. Catching her by the arm as she fell, Deb used her momentum to quickly swing Arlene round and into her bunk. Grinning, Deb leapt on top of her, quickly pinning her arms underneath her knees.

Arlene blinked dizzily before allowing a familiar scowl to settle on her features. “Well that's low, even for you. Is that how you get all your men into bed?”

“What?” Deb arched a flirtatious eyebrow. “Jealous, are you?”

Trying not to focus on _quite_ how close the woman’s bust now was to her face, Arlene's eyes darted away. She wriggled in protest against her awkward position - sat half-upright and lodged against the bunk wall.

“Lister, get _off_ me.” 

Arlene swallowed. Surely her words had meant to convey a little more affront than that? Instead, the demand had sounded a little pathetic and half-hearted. 

_‘Presumably because you're quite happy for her to stay sat on your crotch for the rest of eternity?’_

As soon as that particular train of thought began to emerge from the tunnel, Arlene slammed on the emergency stop, alarmed, before frantically signalling for it to back up into the darkness once more. 

“Stop complaining, y’smegger,” Deb mocked warmly.

Glancing up through the aloft arms that now framed Deb’s face, Arlene watched as dark eyes and probing fingers studied the intricate array of hidden hairpins like a mechanic surveying an engine. Her eyes seemed to burn with that same intense need to understand what made it all tick. A nervous tongue darted out to wet her lips at the thought of it, setting off her chest pounding rather fervently.

“Stop. It.” Arlene ground out the words with little conviction, not entirely sure whether she was speaking to her bunkmate or to herself. She began to quiver with a mixture of horror and anticipation at the disconcertingly welcome feeling of being pinned down to be _un_ pinned by Deb-smegging-Lister. 

As the hairpins were carefully plucked out with confidence and skill, Arlene’s head began to swim dizzy as, slowly but surely, Deb picked apart everything that she’d ever known.

It all felt as revealing and intimate as being undressed. As if each removed pin, each freed curl, signalled another crack of the iron-clad defences in a nervous yet willing surrender.

And as the curls unravelled, so did she. Strange feelings - unnerving yet warm and welcome - unfurled like vines that slowly stretched out to consume her.

Granting the loose hair a final, freeing ruffle until the curly, naturally-round bouffant swamped and framed her thin face, Deb smiled as she admired her work. “Well, _that’s_ better, innit?” she chuckled.

Fingers still entangled in the auburn curls, both women seemed to suddenly realise quite how close they now were. Two sets of eyes danced across each other’s faces in charged expectation.

Horrendously self-conscious, Arlene bit her lip awkwardly as her crotch began to pulse with a pleasurable warmth. There were a thousand and one reasons why she was thankful she wasn't a man and this was certainly one of them. How on Io could blokes keep their arousals and attractions subtle for goodness sake?

“You're blushin’ there, chick,” Deb smiled, her Scouse notes singing to her playfully.

Hmm. Perhaps women weren't that great at it either.

And by the time their lips finally met, it was all rather smegging obvious anyway.


End file.
